


riding shotgun

by Mikey_The_Unicorn



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Blues Singer Khadgar, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikey_The_Unicorn/pseuds/Mikey_The_Unicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inevitably, the man sees him watching, and his eyes lock on, heavy lidded, a slow smile forming, and he knows, he knows that Lothar was staring at him because he leans forwards, and crooks a finger at him, an invitation, a dare. [Come here. Come close. Let. Me. See. You.]</p><p>The first dare of many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	riding shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> so this all started with me getting wildly drunk and this photo: http://ben-schnetzer.com/gallery/albums/userpics/10001/990399.jpg
> 
> after like 5 hours of concentration, vodka, and repeat arctic monkeys, this was born. enjoy yo

He sees him at the show.

It’s all dark, heated, stage lighting burning his fingers as they skated over the strings of his guitar, and his voice is husky, breathy light, bass and blues and the electric crack of feedback. Anduin Lothar drinks in the sight of him like no one he ever has before, from his hands [ _wide knuckled and sliding over the steel_ ] to his hair [ _dark, darkened and swept up and back_ ] and to his mouth.

[ _Dropping open as he keened his notes, tongue wetting his lips in between chorus and verse._ ]

Inevitably, the man sees him watching, and his eyes lock on, heavy lidded, a slow smile forming, and he _knows_ , he _knows_ that Lothar was staring at him because he leans forwards, and crooks a finger at him, an invitation, a dare. [ _Come here. Come close. Let. Me. See. You._ ]

The first dare of many.

When Lothar reaches the front, the smile breaks into something even bigger, and the singer drops to his knees, shifting his position so his legs were spread apart, on either side of him, those fingers flicking underneath his chin, tilting his head back, and then grabbing a hold of his jaw.

And then he _croons_ some line, voice cracked as he shoves Lothar [ _almost_ ] roughly away, and he doesn’t hear through the static dancing through his mind but the tone, the look that those dilated amber eyes give him, tells him that it’s almost definitely about sex.

Anduin Lothar finds himself hard in his jeans, at a mid-afternoon show, fingers gripping into the worn linoleum of the old stage as he watches a blues singer.

*

He’s out the backstage door, waiting, watching clouds being born from the womb of the winter sky when suddenly there’s one hand on his shoulder, the other on his waist, and a tousled head next to his, breath hot on the right side of his neck.

[ _Hey. Hey pretty boy. What’s your name?_ ]

A dry swallow.

[ _Anduin. Anduin Lothar. I just. I just go by Lothar, though._ ]

The hand on his shoulder is beginning to play with his hair, tugging at the strands that just reached his shoulders.

[ _Hello, Anduin Lothar. You may call me Khadgar._ ]

It’s not a request, obvious from the way that Khadgar had purred it into his ear, his fingers digging into Lothar’s side. It’s a command, and he nods, mouth dry once more, as he’s spun around and comes face to face with the other man. Khadgar’s eyes lazily rove over him as he slowly begins to back Lothar up against the wall of the alleyway, his steps involuntary as his knees go weak.

[ _Tell me, Lothar, do you smoke?_ ]

*

So Lothar finds himself following Khadgar up the spindly fire escape that crawled across the side of the industrial factory next to them, his Docs crunching in the rust and the glass that lies scattered, being sat down in front of him, the brick cold against his thighs. The singer’s wearing a heavy coat, bespoke against his frame, and Lothar, unable to help himself, reaches forwards and tugs at the collar as Khadgar’s fingers roll, late light glinting off of the rings on his fingers, bands of heavy steel that frosted over with his breath in the chill air.

He pulls out a lighter [ _steel, like the rest of him_ ], and the flame wavers in the dimming light, evening beginning to roll in as Khadgar passes the joint, smoke draining from his mouth as he leans back against the wall, watching Lothar through those lidded eyes.

[ _Pretty, you know. And your eyes. They’re the fucking colour of the blues I sing._ ]

On the next inhale that Khadgar takes, he leans in, eyes searching Lothar’s for something, before reaching out with his free hand to grab the lapel of his jacket [ _leather_ ], pulling him in close [ _smoke spilling spilling out_ ].

[ _Hey. Hey Lothar. Wanna shotgun?_ ]

Unable to say anything else, his fingers digging into the grooves of brick and through the churn of his mind, whispers of song and blues, he nods.

Once.

Twice.

Hands brush against his jaw. Khadgar tilts his head as he leans in even closer, the cool metal of those rings pressing against Lothar’s skin, lips wisping just past his as he breathed out, the smoke almost too warm. This close, he could smell the other man, deep musk mixing in with the ashy scent of the burning pot. His head was spinning and all he could do was look up into those eyes, eyes the fucking colour of sunlight through whiskey, and he could see everything so much clearer and Khadgar knew as much, knew what he was doing to Lothar as his head drops, and just almost almost kisses his neck as he took a hit.

Khadgar’s one of those people that gets handsy as fuck when he’s high, and he’s just shifting his hands over him, playing with his hair again and cupping his face, tracing over his cheekbones. Lothar could see him through the curls of smoke, eyes alight with something akin to _wonder_ as Khadgar brushes his fingertips over his collarbones.

When Lothar next passes, the singer inhales while fixating his eyes on him [ _those fucking honeyed eyes and his honeyed voice slinking through the high and his ears_ ], and leans in and tangles a hand in his hair, drawing a choked gasp from him as Khadgar almost yanks his head back as he blows smoke into Lothar’s face and down the curve of his exposed throat.

It’s a challenge, Anduin Lothar knows that, with the sly look in his eyes and the smirk he has painted on, and Khadgar knows that he’s staring once again, because slowly, deliberately, he flicks his tongue out and wets his lips.

He adheres by the rules [ _two tokes and pass_ ] so there’s nothing Lothar can do while he watches Khadgar inhale again, slowly, still deliberate, with all the grace of a coiled tiger, ready to spring, his hand still tangled in his hair, the almost pain pricking his scalp as his bracelet scrapes at the back of his neck.

He’s holding the smoke in his lungs, tendrils curling out of his slightly party lips, and, inadvertently, Lothar’s tongue darts out and licks his own, and something just flares in Khadgar’s eyes and there’s a flare of pain as he pulls on his hair, once.

As his head is tugged back, Lothar’s mouth falls open in a reactionary gasp, and then there’s a weight and smoke haze on top of him, Khadgar’s other arm across his chest, pinning him down as he crouches over him, the heat from the cherry dangerously close to the hollow of his throat. He leans in [ _sunlight captured in his eyes_ ] and Lothar swallows once, twice, while the singer’s fingers dig into his scalp and the hard brick of the ground digs into his back, winter chill balanced by the heat that the body on top of him was giving off.

Maybe it’s the hemp hitting him, maybe it’s his eyes, golden brown and liquid gold, but Lothar licks his lips again and then there’s a quick release of pressure against his chest that lands on a wrist.  

The first thing he notices is the warmth, the smoke that curls from Khadgar to him, his stubble scratching against his lips as he half, half kisses Lothar, his eyelashes, long, dark, brushing against his cheek.

And then the grasp on his hair tightens as the fucker _bites_ him, Lothar’s lower lip captured between Khadgar’s teeth as he slowly ruts against him, fingernails scraping far too lightly against the skin that was exposed when his shirt rode up, biting wind chilling him against his feverish touch.

It’s only once, a slow drag of his hips against Lothar’s, the way he would take a drag, but he involuntarily bucks up against Khadgar, head falling further back and to his horror, he lets out a _whine_ , and the singer’s reaction is immediate, a slow, dangerous smile that makes him freeze up in anticipation and fear.

Khadgar shifts, and now he’s straddling Lothar, a hand on his wrist and the other untangling from his hair, tracing its way up from the back of his neck to the front of his throat, calloused fingertips scratching at the sensitive skin, occasionally pressing down, drawing gasps that he silences with a finger held to Lothar’s lips.

He leaves it there, almost as if he is waiting for something, a test that Lothar was expected to pass, a silent dare that lingered in the air between the two, and Anduin Lothar decides to try his luck, tongue flitting out and then caressing up the length of the other man’s finger.

And Khadgar hisses, body uncoiling, rocking his hips down as he presses the finger against his lips, sliding it into Lothar’s mouth where it rests, heavy against his tongue, thumb stroking the side of his face as Lothar obeys his unspoken command, sucking on it as nails dig into his wrists, a flare of pain from the end of the joint nudging into his wrist until it is all but forgotten.

His hair is falling into Lothar’s face now, messy and undone as he whispers filth into his ear [ _your pretty mouth_ ], what he wants to do to him [ _hold you down_ ], how he wants to mark him for the world to see, and Lothar gazes, boneless as Khadgar grinds down on him, into his eyes, the colour of the fading bruises that he promises to leave on his neck.

He makes good of that promise, now, marking it out with his slicked fingers on Lothar’s neck, Khadgar’s breath ghosting across his skin as the singer presses his lips down his jawline, nibbling at Lothar’s neck before he bites down, almost too hard, and he could feel the other man sucking down as his fingers scraped futilely against the brick floor, whimpers muffled by the hand over his mouth.

And when Khadgar’s done that, he sits back up, rolling off almost effortlessly, propping himself back up against his post at the wall, as Lothar makes a noise of protest, fingers curling into the ground as he pants, craving more, hard [ _once again_ ] in his jeans, neck marked starkly against the winter sky.

Lothar looks to Khadgar, imploringly, but he’s already lighting up again, lips reddened, wrapped around the filter of what is now a cigarette [ _the end flattened from when he took the tobacco out, the way he took the fight out of him_ ], a corner of those lips lifted up in a leer. Lothar opens his mouth, but he silences it, once more, his finger pressing down, eyebrow quirked up as he grins.

[ _Slow and predatory, a promise of what is to come if he remained quiet. Remained good._ ]

That evening, Anduin Lothar left with a number scrawled on the inside of his arm, neck bruised, face still flushed with memory as winter blue yielded to the hot, dark amber of coming night.

**Author's Note:**

> so i hope y'all liked that and yeah maybe i'll write more adventures like this, who knows (((:


End file.
